Six Degrees of Separation
by chimere
Summary: After all six degrees of separation, each one crueller than the last, it should finally be simple. But it isn't. It never has been for them. The final reunion. Spoilers for "Blood on the Scales" and "Daybreak, Part 2".


Disclaimer: everything in Battlestar Galactica (re-imagined series) belongs to Ronald D. Moore, David Eick and the Sci Fi Channel, I'm just borrowing some of it. The phrase "We are all the sum of our tears" is from G'Kar, a character in Babylon 5, belonging to J. Michael Straczynski and Warner Bros. Not making any money. Don't sue.

* * *

**Six Degrees of Separation**

_By chim__è_re

"He thinks it will be simple, you know," the being who looks like Gaius Baltar says.

The being who looks like Caprica Six laughs musically. "How very like him. He has no idea what's in store. But then, they never do... Why should death change that?"

* * *

It should be simple. After all this, after all six degrees of separation, each one crueller than the last, it should finally be simple. He's never been sure he believes in the existence of souls, but he believes in their love, and the two halves of it, kept apart for so long, should find each other now like the fire of lightning, blinding and searing and destroying everything else in its path.

Instead, Bill finds himself standing on a ship. And not just any ship, a Cylon Basestar.

Red, alien light plays on Laura's face. She is hunched over a console, hands gripping it tightly, breathing laboured. Her eyes shine with the light of distant star clusters, deadly fire in the blackness of space. "Target... your nukes... on Galactica."

The Cylons obey, as though she were the captain of this ship. Only Gaius Baltar protests, "You can't do this, Laura! Galactica is the protector of the Fleet, the hope of humanity!"

"And do you think I'm going to leave humanity at the mercy of _Tom Zarek_ and _Felix Gaeta_? After they've just killed -" She stops abruptly and draws a ragged breath.

"There are thousands of people on that ship, including the Admiral's son!"

"I'm going to give Lee every possible chance. But if he doesn't take the ship back soon, he's probably dead as well. They're all dead. Lee, Kara, Tigh, Hera, Sharon, Helo. Bill." Her voice breaks over his name, but her expression doesn't waver.

"Laura..." He takes a step forward, but he has a feeling she can't see or hear him.

"You're really going to attack Galactica?" Baltar demands incredulously. "You'll attempt to _blow up_ Galactica? You might get _us_ blown up! Galactica has destroyed a few Baseships in her day, I shouldn't have to remind you!"

"No." She is smiling now, a sad and proud smile. "That was Galactica under Bill's command."

"We have weapons lock on Galactica," one of the Sixes says.

"Laura." He is more urgent now. "Laura, stop it."

"Captains of the Fleet, steer your vessels away from the Galactica. The mutineers and murderers who have taken over that ship will be brought to justice. Galactica, this is your last warning."

"Laura! They didn't kill me. I'm not dead!"

She raises her head suddenly and looks straight at him, and the light and tears and pain in her eyes knock the breath from his lungs. "Yes, Bill, you are."

* * *

"You're dead, and it's my fault."

They're standing on the hilltop now. Their cabin is some distance below and to the south; her grave is right behind them, but he doesn't turn to look. Instead, he looks at her, the way she is holding her body rigid and facing away from him, watching the eastern sky.

She is a miracle, as she always has been, and he wants nothing more than to bury his hands in the red hair that flows past her shoulders again. To finally be comforted. But it's not that simple. There's still a wall between them, even here.

Why did he expect it to be simple? It never has been for them. Their love is simple - bright and warm, an anchor in the chaos. But there has always been too much pain. Why should it disappear after death? They both still remember it. They both still _are_ it, the sum of their tears like everyone is.

"I killed you," Laura continues, her voice brittle and trembling. "I broke your heart. All I ever gave you was more pain, as if you didn't already have enough. I almost managed to kill you then, when my idleness allowed Zarek to conspire with Gaeta. And in the end I left you alone, to mourn me, when you should have finally had peace."

Bill wants to argue, her words being as wrong as they are. But he doesn't, because he knows she understands it herself. Understands that the words are mostly wrong, but speaks them for the grain of truth in them.

He extends his arm towards her, but doesn't touch her. "I didn't kill myself, Laura. And I did have peace."

"I know you, Bill." Her laugh is half a sob. "You had acceptance. You had patience. You were waiting. That's not _life_, Bill."

"I built our cabin. I talked to my son. Saw him married, saw my grandchildren. I read books to you. It was enough."

"Oh, Bill. I always took from you, even when I was dead. Why did you let me?"

"Because I love you."

She turns at last, and the look on her face _does_ break his heart, the way she has done before, the way he would let her do again a thousand times. Not because he submits to her. Because he can see that all the pain she has been forced to cause him has broken her heart as well.

He takes a step closer. "It's all over now. We're past all of it. Let's not let it divide us any more."

"Really? It's all over? The end of the world? The fighting? The pain?" She is smiling, but he can see the tears behind it.

"Yeah." He takes another step, wanting desperately to comfort her and be comforted. "I'd say this counts as the beginning of a world. We found Earth. My son is living on it, all of our people are. We're buried in it."

There are tears on her cheeks now, but she is wearing a smile, and it's no longer tremulous, but bright and courageous and warm, the way she is. His Laura. He stares at her, drinking her in, now that there are finally no more walls between them. "Missed you," he says hoarsely.

Her eyes are shining as she steps up to him, lifts her hands to caress his cheeks. "Me, too."

And then they are finally clinging to each other, her arms around his neck, his hands in her hair, laughing and crying and kissing and feeling the weight of the world slip from their shoulders.

They had never imagined they could feel like this. They'd forgotten what it's like to be without pain. Weightless. Free. It's almost terrifying to feel all the wounds heal themselves. There is no more end of the worlds. No more unimaginable choices driving wedges between them. No more cancer. No more fear and doubt and worry and responsibility. No more death, because they've passed beyond it, and now they're here.

* * *

"The light _is_ heavenly," she comments, leaning against his shoulder.

"Well, this is supposed to be heaven, right? Or the Fields of Elysium or whatever the frak the priests were going on about while I wasn't paying attention."

Laura laughs delightedly and Bill feels it like warmth in his chest. He does feel alive now, here with her after death, the way he didn't feel alive living without her. She was right, as usual. But there is nothing to forgive. Her death only did to him what his death would have done to her. She is not responsible for that pain, that's the universe or the gods or whatever it is that delights so much in injustice.

He tries to tell her that, to wipe away the last vestiges of this last separation between them. But although he can hold speeches, he's not so good with words around her, and the best he can manage is, "For such a smart woman, you expressed some remarkably stupid ideas a while ago."

She doesn't smile. "No, Bill," she says seriously, "leave me that regret. You're in the business of saving my soul, right? Leave me that, and it might be saved."

Apparently, she's still just as stubborn, and she wouldn't be Laura if she were otherwise. He kisses her hair that gleams in the sun. "All right."

"Maybe this isn't real," she says, the last shadow of doubt in her, a habit to expect pain and not joy.

He puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes. "I don't care." He gets up and holds out his hand to her. "Let's go home."

She grasps his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. Her fingers entwined in his feel warmer than the sun in his childhood memories of a Caprican back yard, more exhilarating than a ride in a Viper, more intimate than whispers against naked skin at night, more beautiful than any declaration of love. He lifts them to his lips briefly before leading her away.

Laura and Bill walk down the hill that carries two graves, walk side by side towards their cabin that stands in the sunlight.


End file.
